Cee Devlin



Queer Modes: New Australian Poetry


I did not want to build a falling-down house of rhetoric
Or even one that could stand all the huffing and puffing

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TIDE

Who named you White hot strike? Decided this here: Touch each of my hairlines Who spoke of clean cut or dash or steel-toed? As though you don’t crawl beneath the carpet Rotten space you’ll smell for the rest of days …

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